


Four Times Coulson And Daisy Woke Up Together (And One Time They Didn't)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl can get used to mornings with a guy like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Coulson And Daisy Woke Up Together (And One Time They Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



**zero**

The first time they wake up together it's because they were both too stubborn to admit the idea of sharing a motel bed could be maybe a bit uncomfortable, and too tired to drive to the next town with an available room.

They had glossed over the awkward parts by raiding the vending machine and tuning in some B-movie from the 80s to watch together. When Daisy wakes up the first thing she sees it the candy wrappers on the bedside table, and the second thing she sees is Coulson's hand, as he has his arm comfortably thrown over her chest, his fingers resting right over Daisy's breast as he sleeps and snores softly and almost inadibly. How could they think there was anything uncomfortable about this? Daisy snorts.

"Hey, Coulson," she calls and her voice sounds even lower than usual to herself.

The Director doesn't really want to wake up. She can hear the little moan-like noises he's making against the back of her neck, as he is technically cuddling her. The light outside suggests they have overslep and she remembers it's Sunday and the only thing they have to do today is get to their next stop. She feels tempted to pretend she is asleep and just let this playout for a bit longer. She decides that would be too selfish.

"Coulson, wake up. I don't want you to be even more mortified than you're going to be."

"What are you –?"

She can tell the exact moment he realizes because his right hand freezes.

Coulson says something under his breath that, if Daisy didn't know better, would sound like swearing, and he pulls back, sitting up immediately.

She had forgotten how big and warm and crowding people feel when you sleep next to them. She feels a pang of regret when that suddenly goes away, when Coulson takes that away from her.

"Sorry," Coulson hisses as his eyes focus.

She sits up too, thanking the long pajama pants and the old sweater she carries with her on the road because in her experience it gets pretty cold and damp in motels.

"Sorry. That... shouldn't have happened."

"It's such a cliche, isn't it?" she says, trying to make light of it because does Coulson look spooked.

"I should have..." he gestures. "Slept in the chair."

Daisy snorts. "Come on. That's stupid."

"It's not stupid," he says. Oh god he's serious. He'd rather sleep in a chair and spend the whole day achy and grumpy to the idea of waking up next to Daisy. "I am so sorry."

No, that's not it. He sounds genuinely concerned _for her_.

"Hey, don't apologize, this is more action than this body has seen in ages," she jokes.

It's not a joke. She doesn't remember what having sex with anyone other than herself feels like anymore.

"This is not a joke," he says.

It makes her feel a bit guilty – because she had liked falling asleep on the same bed as Coulson, and she had liked waking up to find him there, but of course Coulson thinks that sort of thing is disturbing.

"No, no, I know it's not. I was just trying to tell you I know you wouldn't – hurt me or take advantage like that. It's okay. I feel safe."

Coulson watches her face intently, like he's making sure she's sincere.

"I'm sorry," he says, softly, and it's different to the other apologies. "I overreacted."

She gives him a little smile. "Yeah. You do that."

"I want you to feel safe around me," he tells her.

Daisy nods. "I do."

Coulson grabs her arm and pulls her into an embrace. 

He's careful with it, not holding her tight, more like an invitation than something that would make her feel trapped.

She hadn't realized how much she needed a hug until now. It was there last night, this background pleasing feeling as they got into bed, just by having someone else there, just because she wasn't alone. The last months had been exhausting – ATCU on their tail, the mess with Lincoln, the pressure on all gifted individuals from the government. And now that they have a break to make some progress on the Inhuman front Daisy has to face it all again; the confused, even dangerous recently-transformed, the families, the tricks she had to perform to keep their powers quiet, manipulating the media to get them off the scent of these vulnerable people who are, ultimately, Daisy's responsibility. Crossing the country helping those who are like her gives her a sense of purpose, but it takes a lot from her. When Coulson touches her in this friendly way it feels like she hasn't been touched in ages.

"We should probably get going," he says, but his hand doesn't stop stroking her back gently.

Maybe he needs a hug too.

Daisy doesn't regret having woken up together this morning.

 

**one**

The real first time they wake up together is all reluctance, all "did we really do that last night", all careful touches (Daisy really doesn't seen to want to let go) and cold feet. It's a contrast with last night, Coulson is aware of that and shocked by the difference when he finally opens his eyes for a moment.

"Is this the part where you tell me it was all one big mistake?" Daisy asks him.

"No," Coulson says, without hesitation and she looks incredibly relieved, even as she had made the question half in joking. "This is where I tell you I'm really not a morning person."

"You're not? The uptight Director of SHIELD? I'm disappointed."

He moans in protest and turns on his side, his face buried into the pillow but touching Daisy's shoulder. He can feel her gaze like warm sunlight on the back of his head.

"I'm very grumpy in the mornings, hate to wake up," he says. "I was hoping I could hide that from you a little longer."

Daisy makes a pleased sound (that's nice, he thinks, that's actually a good way of starting the day, he wouldn't mind...)

He had been very dramatic last night but now in the light of day he feels awkward. He doesn't remember how it's like having sex with someone he already was in love with first. That normally comes later. And this being Daisy is an extra problem: her being so much younger, her being _his agent_ , and her being Inhuman... Coulson doesn't want to think about all this. And not wanting to think gives him an idea.

"What do we do with this mess, Phil?" Daisy asks softly. It sends a shiver down his spine, remembering how she had said his name the night before, when she bent over his body and they started moving together and she kept saying his name like a mantra, like it meant as much to her as her name(s) have always meant to Coulson. "Are we supposed to march out there and file some official paperwork?"

She is lying on her side, looking at him with those big, curious eyes. Without her make-up she looks simultaneously younger and older and Coulson suddenly feels the weight of such privilege, looking at her just as she wakes up.

"I think we have to," he tells her. "There are rules about it."

"So we have to sign a waiver?"

"I'm afraid so."

Daisy makes a content little sounds he doesn't understand at first. Then he realizes that maybe having an official document saying that he cares about her actually means something to someone like her. The thought breaks his heart and he wants to tell her how much he loves her all over again, like he did last night, kissing her face for what seemed like hours, committing every moment to memory, hating the idea of falling asleep because that meant those moments had to end, but loving the idea of falling asleep next to her, being held by her. 

He wants that all over again.

He wants many things, apparently.

"If you are okay with skipping your morning exercises I suggest we go back to sleep and forget all about it for a couple of hours," he finally suggests.

To make his point he closes his eyes and brushes his nose against her naked shoulder.

"You really are not a morning person, uh?"

But she doesn't say no and she wraps one arm –with that very Daisy carefulness of hers– around Coulson's waist, ready to cuddle up to him if Coulson were to pull her against him.

He pulls her against him.

 

**two**

The first time she tells him she loves him Coulson has his tongue pressed against her clit.

Very romantic.

It was his fault in the first place. Apparently the cure for Coulson's grumpiness in the morning was with lots of morning sex. Daisy is not going to complain, and perhaps is the only thing that makes sense, with their crazy lives – who knows what could happen in the course of another dangerous day, and often they were too wound up at the end of a mission for anything slow and soft like this.

Much more of a morning person now that he has a reason to be Coulson had woken her up kissing her neck and shoulders. Eventually, as she woke up little by little and kiss by warm kiss, he travelled downwards. They haven't been doing this whole thing – this whole _us_ thing – long but he was really good at this; at waking her up slowly and methodically and with his mouth.

Daisy meant to say that she loved this, this thing in the morning, and what he did to her. She meant to – but of course she ended up saying that she loved _him_.

"What did you just said?" Coulson says, resting his chin, all non-chalant and smug, on Daisy's hip.

Daisy widens her eyes and she immediately sits up.

"I'm taking it back, I take it back," she tells him.

"You can't take something like this back," he says, laughing and kissing her face.

Coulson, for all his careful and restrained professional person, turned out to be an affectionate and mushy lover, but he also has an innate understanding and _respect_ of Daisy's struggles with that. A lifetime of pulling back for fear of rejection can't be undone in a couple of months of (really nice, she admits) sex.

"Come on, let me take it back," she asks Coulson.

He shakes his head. "No, this is forever now."

Daisy groans, slapping his shoulder gently.

She moves back, resting her back against the headboard and looking at Coulson with a bit of distance (he's so close in the morning, she always wakes up to parts of him, wonderfully overblown and taking up all the space in her corners and hollows) to consider him. She had wanted to give him this. She has screwed up, of course she has. Typical, really.

Daisy reaches for him again, holding his face in her hands.

"I wanted to do it properly," she explains. "I wanted for you to know I mean it."

Coulson kisses her hard, leaving her breathless.

"I don't need the words," he tells her. "I just thought it was funny."

And well, it is funny, it was funny. Not a story they can ever tell anyone ("the first time I told him I loved him..." no, definitely no) and maybe that's okay, it gets to be a secret. She kisses him, sheets bunched between them as Daisy moves into the kiss and pulls him closer.

"Okay," Coulson says. You can take it back. I heard nothing."

"I know I can do better."

"You're such a perfectionist," Coulson says, dropping his head to her stomach and laying a trail of kisses down her hips.

 

**three**

When he wakes up Daisy is there. Which is incongruous. In this bed. He imagines he is making it up. Wouldn't a surprise, with the amount of painkillers pumped into him in the last few hours. But painkillers are nice and Daisy's weight on his chest, even if it's not real, feels like having an extra pillow hugging him. It's only when he tries to hug back that he realizes that she is real and here with him. He tries to shake her awake.

"Leave me alone," she mutters, twisting her fingers into the fabric of his hospital gown.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. In the relative darkness of a hospital room he can make the shape of her boots dropped on the floor. Memories of the previous day – or he thinks it's the previous day, everything seems confusing – come back and he doesn't want them to. Memories of pain and powerlessness, and the relief when Daisy finally saved him. She saved him. "Daisy..."

"I'm sleeping," she says, her eyes still closed.

"You realize this is a hospital, right?"

"Yes, shut up."

"And this is a hospital _bed_."

"Coulson, it's two in the morning, and you almost lost your other stupid hand today, let me sleep."

"I was sleeping. You're the one who–"

"Shut up okay."

And she sounds annoyed at him and so very scared.

Coulson sighs. She has her eyes closed and her arms wrapped so tight around his chest that it's a bit uncomfortable to breathe. He doesn't have much mobility on the fingers of his right hand right now but enough that he can reach out and touch the side of her head, stroke her hair lightly with the tips of his fingers.

"Go back to sleep," he hears her mutter, sounding fond and exasperated.

He smiles and stops caressing her, but he leaves his hand resting between her shoulders until they wake up again.

 

**four**

When she wakes up Coulson is not there. Which Daisy hates. She's come to expect him to be there, and wake up in a mood when he isn't. She has trouble sleeping if they don't share a bed. It's pathetic really. But she has no one but herself to blame. She should be disgusted, really. All this attachment, all this hoping, all this happiness. It never goes well for her. Yet somehow she's not afraid of that anymore.

She's just mildly curious that Coulson – embarrassingly affectionate in the mornings – is not here with her in bed.

His absence is explained a few moments later, when he comes into the bedroom with a tray.

"Breakfast in bed!" she exclaims.

And sure, she's on the mend and Coulson promised to do this kind of stuff for her while she recovered but still, the image of him coming through the door with her breakfast is unexpectedly touching.

When he puts the tray down she can see what it is: humble, just as he knows she likes it, French toast, a tomato in wedges, fresh spices sprinkled over, freshly squeezed juice, a latte with an extra shot of coffee. Coulson sits at the edge of the bed by her side, waiting for her to talk.

"It looks amazing," she says. "Is it organic?"

She can feel her eyes glaze over a bit. She can't help it. Maybe it's because she just woke up and her defenses are down. Maybe it's because she for real almost got killed a couple of days ago. Something messes her up when she sees the little tomato wedges, cut so carefully and she imagines Coulson waking up early to buy stuff, when she imagines him cooking this _thinking of her_.

"It's just french toast, Daisy," he protests against her melodrama, touching her cheek. "I just went to the market while you were sleeping. Yes, of course it's organic. It's okay. It was no bother."

"But I've never-" she stops herself. It would probably make him feel bad, to know he's the first person to want to take care of her like this. Instead she thanks him humbly and begins to eat while Coulson watches on. It doesn't take long, because it's so delicious. 

"How's the ankle?" he asks, pulling away the sheets and holding Daisy's foot in his hand. He presses his thumb carefully against the dark bruise caused by the bad fall. It's okay, just a bit uncomfortable until it heals – which is why Coulson had suggested a couple of days' rest in a safehouse in the city in the first place. He turns the foot, checking the injury on the other side.

"I'll survive," she says.

"What about the head? Does it hurt too much?"

His hand goes to her forehead now, brushing the hair away from her right temple. The cut above the eyebrow still stings like hell and the headache is annoying too but she finds it amusing, Coulson's attitude, the gentleness of his little touches here and there. It's touching.

"You're actually pretty sweet. You know that?"

She reaches out and touches his hair. Coulson smiles but goes immediately back to checking up on her. If he worries only a fraction of how she worries when he gets hurt then she gets it, though. When he seems satisfied that she is not dying or something he stretches and kisses her forehead.

"Now I'll bring you your laptop because I know better than to tell you not to work," he says. "But don't overdo it."

"Thanks," she tells him, touching his wrist shyly. Coulson frowns at the gesture. "It'd be nice if this wasn't – you know, a SHIELD house."

"What do you mean?"

Daisy takes a breath and takes a moment to push old fears of rejection away.

"I love the Playground, and I realize we won't have that much time to ourselves in the future. It would be nice if it wasn't spent in safehouses."

"You mean... Like a house of our own?"

He sounds as careful as she feels.

"I'm sorry, it was a stupid idea, forget it."

She draws the covers up her knees.

"Of course it's not stupid," he tells her, sliding closer to her on the bed. "It's just –"

He chuckles, grabbing Daisy's shoulders and pulling her into a hug. Has he lost his mind or something?

"You don't understand," he says, mouth close to Daisy's ear, holding her so tight it makes her wonder. "When I met you I had long given up any illusion that I would be having this conversation. With anyone. Ever."

He chuckles softly again and against her neck. He'd better not cry, Daisy thinks, fondly, and stroking the back of his head.

"This is going to take a lot of official paperwork," he comments.

Daisy pulls away, drawing one hand over his heart.

"That's okay, I like official paperwork."

"I know," he says, because of course he does, and he gives her a quick kiss, his hands around his waist.

Daisy thinks how nice it feels, having Coulson to fill all those hollow places in her life, his presence so big and warm.

"Hey, I hated waking up without you," she confesses. "Why don't you come here and this time you're here when I do?"

"You've already eaten breakfast," he says, and she wants to roll her eyes because _very romantic_.

"I'm the one injured here, you have to do what I say."

"I have?"

"Yes. _Every_ -thing I say."

"Mmm," he mutters, moving to press his face against Daisy's chest. "Then I guess I have to."

"I guess so."

She maneuvers her pained body to let Coulson lie in bed with her. He gently rests his head on her chest while she pats his hair a couple of times. He smells like the breakfast he made for her. Daisy is only too happy to fall asleep to that scent. But in all honestly she's just looking forward to waking up again.


End file.
